Of Flint and Lions
by Shiloh Taemi
Summary: I intend to post shorts, and one shots surrounding my DA:I inquisitor Isabel Trevelyan. Not necessarily in chronological order, though I will try. F!Inquisitor, warrior class and Cullen centric.
1. The Herald of Getting your Ass Whooped

**The Herald of getting your ass whooped. **

She stalks to the training grounds, but in spite of how inconspicuous she wants to be the denizens of Haven call out to her.

"Herald!"

"Herald, bless us!"

"Herald, save us!"

The loudest and boldest cry out to her, the rest whisper and watch with wide eyes, Isabel Trevelyan grits her teeth and glares at the ground in front of her in response. She does not want this Cullen thinks to himself, as he continues to call out drills. The recruits let down their guard and openly gap at her as she laces up her armor and tests the balance of one of the few remaining training swords.

"Shields up, if that man was your enemy, you'd be dead!" Cullen barks out harshly, effectively redirecting the soldiers focus to the task at hand and away from the reluctant hero.

She picks up a wooden shield and surveys the drilling soldiers, letting out a small huff when what she sees does not impress her and turns instead to the training dummies where Cassandra is brutally savaging the wooden and hay opponent. She takes three steps before she stops gripping her sword tightly as she watches the seeker. Cullen can see her jawbone working is silent fury as she stares down his compatriot. Not twenty four hours ago the same people who praised her called her prisoner and blamed her for the new state of the world, in no small part because of Cassandra. She paces back reminding the Commander of a caged animal wanting nothing more than to lash out at her captors, though technically not a prisoner, the mark on her hand keeps her in Haven.

Cullen waves over one of his lieutenants, to continue with the training of the raw recruits and un belts his long sword, placing it carefully beside one of the tents, replacing it with a training sword and shield before approaching her. He recognizes the feelings of frustration and impotence in her. He remembers feeling the same way. There's a shyness and hesitation to her, probably wanting a quiet corner to beat out the anger away from prying eyes and speculation. Cullen has become used to the eyes on him, the weight of command has settled on his shoulders as easily as his thick winter collar. The Herald on the other hand does not welcome the expectations of the masses and he understands. He was a Templar after all, spending the better part of the last ten years standing in silent sentry in the circles, looked over, and ignored. It is a comfortable place to be, invisible, and it's easy to see that despite her noble birth she is used to being overlooked and left to her own devices. Curiosity and pity move him towards her, this herald who despises her divine title. In truth Cullen's not sure what he believes, if she was chosen by the Makers bride or if it was simply providence that saved her, he knows only that she walked out of the breach, alive, when everyone else died.

"My Lady Trevelyan, you have the look of someone who wants to inflict pain. Might I serve?" She looks up at him with a cold flint gaze, assessing him before the corner of her lips tip up slightly.

"Am I that obvious?" Her voice is quiet, belying the fury that roils off of her shoulders.

"Just a little." He tries not to smile at her when she grunts and rolls her eyes at him.

"It's Isabel, my sister in law is Lady Trevelyan." Helmets are placed on heads and battle stances are taken.

"Lady Isabel." He nods at her, lowering his visor, tasting her name. He can't bring himself to not use a title, she is nobility, it wouldn't be proper. Pale grey eyes narrow at him, flint sparking a fire.

Cullen waits for her to make the first move; he's interested in seeing what she can do, how she fights, where her skill is. She mirrors him circling around soundlessly until finally she lunges, fainting and hitting him with her shield before following through with her sword. He deflects her, the sound of steel on steel sliding in both their ears. Cullen has both a height and weight advantage, but he learned long ago that these things mean nothing, he feels each blow vibrate though his arms, there's power behind her blows. She's relentless and quick dodging his heavy hits, harrying him, wearing him down, using his strengths against him, and he smiles under his lion helm. She knows what she's doing, and is quite good at it, her power is controlled and precise, no movement wasted. He's breathing hard before long, and her attacks are soon accompanied with savage grunts, her eyes never leave him, never stop reading and strategizing. It's only when one of the soldiers call out a cheer, to Cullen, followed by other voices calling out to her cheering Lady Isabel on in their little bought that she falters, that he loses her eyes, and Cullen uses the distraction to his advantage, hitting her hard to the ground. She falls unceremoniously cursing on her way down.

"Shit." She feels her cheeks colour under her helm, a stupid mistake.

Cullen offers a hand and Isabel takes it. Pity might have drawn him to her, but he's unforgiving on the battlefield. Whatever distractions there might have been, she must learn to stay focused, learn to accept that for good or ill the common folk will look up to her, cheer her and will her to succeed, pray for her success in sealing the rift.

"All right?" He asks revealing a sweat stained brow, still breathing hard.

She nods, taking her helm off, her short chestnut hair plastered to her head, hoping the red in her cheeks will be mistaken for exertion instead of embarrassment.

"Herald, Commander, our messenger has just arrived from Val Royeaux. Could you meet us in the war room?" Josephine with the ridiculous gold dress calls out to them, and Cullen waves her off in acknowledgement, waiting for Isabel to start walking before he falls in step beside her.

"You're quite skilled. You nearly had me." It seems the lady Trevelyan suffers from a hint of pride as she bristles when her loss is pointed out.

"Would have had you if not for your imbecilic recruits..." She grumbles quietly, scowling before clamping her mouth shut, a new blush touching her cheeks. Cullen laughs, and it is a rich and honest thing.

"I accept your challenge. A rematch, tomorrow morning at 0500, before my imbicils wake up." He slides a look down at her, baiting her.

"0500, you're mad!" For a moment her shyness is forgotten as she turns to face him squarely.

"I suppose you didn't have me after all." A teasing tone had entered his voice and he is rewarded with a finger in the center of his chest and a snarl.

"I see your game, commander." She hurries ahead into the chantry, "0500, don't be late." There's a promise and a threat in her quiet voice.

Perhaps it wasn't wise to bait the Herald Cullen thinks, smiling wryly to himself. Whatever she was, he would help her in any way he knew how and if it meant earning some new bruises in training or losing some more of his already elusive sleep so be it. He follows, scrubbing a hand over his face, 0500 really was far too early, yet despite the hour he was already looking forward to their rematch.


	2. The Herald of Invading Personal Space

It was early, the sun was still under the horizon, it was quite possibly the coldest time of day. Isabel and Cullen had agreed it was a ridiculous time to meet for sparring. She should be in her bed buried under the furs and blankets, but she was lacing up her gauntlets, and buckling her shin guards for the fifth morning in a row. They were tied, two wins and two losses a piece, and Maker take her pride but she refused to leave it at a stale mate. She stepped into the sleeping town of Haven and jogged to the sparring ring. Cullen trotted after her as she reached the gates rubbing his hands together, offering her a tight smile.

"Good morning, my Lady." He greeted her with a tip of his head as he always does.

"Commander." She nods to him in turn.

He hefts open the gates, creaking in the early morning, too loud in the silence. Once the gate doors settle there is only the crunch of their boots on the latest blanket of snow. Cullen picks up a training sword, slashing the air in wide arcs before choosing a shield. Isabel watches him from the corner of her eye, he's not wearing his collar and his armor is lighter today, he would be quicker to counter without his usual bulk, but he was sacrificing defense. She lifts an eyebrow, Cullen was more competitive then he let on. He always explained it was to improve their skills, but she knew full well he would never go into actual battle with only grieves and shoulder guards, he came to their morning bought to win.

"Aren't you cold?" She asked, letting him know she noticed the difference, and that she would not be caught off guard.

"I'll warm up soon enough." He salutes her with his sword, a twinkle in his eyes.

She was leaving for Redcliff later in the day to meet with first enchanter Fiona, there was other business in the Hinterlands on top of that, including speaking with a lone Warden named Blackwall, she would be gone for two weeks at the very least. Cullen wasn't the only one who had winning on his mind. Isabel salutes and falls into a battle ready position. Cullen doesn't wait for her to make the first move this time. He lunges fast and Isabel barely has time to lift her shield to catch his sword. He is faster, his footwork kicking up the snow and she is on the defensive, she catches his sword on her shield again, her whole body vibrating with the power of Cullens hit, grunting as one of her legs buckles. She pushes back, shoving him off with everything she has, lunging while he rights himself, she's grown accustomed to his fighting style and he knows it, she barely has time to keep up with his changes to adjust her own strategy. She grits her teeth as he easily counters one of her hits, he's not the Commander of the Inquisitions forces for nothing. His sword is arcing over her left side, and she hears his voice in her head from the last time he beat her, _"I noticed that you leave your left flank open after your attacks. Something to keep in mind."_

"Shit." She takes a knee lifting her shield high catching his sword barely. She jabs her sword forward, but instead of meeting his knees she meets his shield, and she curses in frustration.

"Yeild." He growls out, tangling her sword in his shield.

"Like hell!" She sacrifices her shield, slipping her arm free and grasping her sword with two hands, pulling it from Cullens shield, grasping it like a great sword.

She pushes in close, making his own shield ineffective, jabbing and making small short movements, and he throws his own shield to the ground but Isabel smiles, too little too late, she's won, she pushes, and he trips on the root she's been driving him towards. She's on him, grabbing the wrist of his sword arm, holding it over his head and holding her blunted training sword to his throat.

"Do you yield, Commander Cullen?" She breaths out triumphant.

"I yield. Maker's breath, well played." He smiles up at her, his breath coming in short white puffs in the cold air.

She is sprawled, her legs having twined around him to keep him pinned, her torso long and taught over his, her hand still gripping his wrist above his head tightly, she can feel his breath on her cheeks, she's close enough to notice how his hazel eyes look more like molten gold then brown, she can smell his sweat, both sweet and pungent. Her triumphant smirk falters, she can't hold his eyes, and she looks away, instead watching his pulse against the blunt practice sword, the muscles and veins beneath his skin. She can feel the blush start on her chest winding up her neck. She releases him sitting up feeling the cold wind against her chest, a stark contrast to the warmth of his body. She stands up and backs away, before remembering herself and offering a hand to her fallen opponent. He takes it and she wonders if he's feverish, he's so warm, she never noticed how warm he was. She clears her throat dropping his hand as soon as he's standing. Quickly looking away, because the gold in his eyes fascinates her, they're so unique, not quite understanding how she had missed that particular detail before now.

Cullen rubs the back of his neck, looking down noticing the root that had been his undoing before kneeling down to pick up the flash of metal partly covered by the snow. A ring on a chain, he lifts it holding it to the light of the rising sun, it looks like a wedding band. Isabels hands fly to her neck before she grabs the chain from his fingers, a little too quickly, almost panicked.

"You're married?" Cullen asks, he shouldn't be surprised, but he is.

"um…no, not anymore." She clasps the chain back around her neck, where it belongs. "I'm widowed." Guilt crashes around her for having looked at Cullen the way she did, for having enjoyed his heat, if only for a moment, she tucks the ring and chain into her tunic, hidden and out of sight, the ring is icy against her chest, shame dogs at her. Careless.

"I'm sorry." He watches her, how her hand curls around the ring protectively.

"It was a long time ago." She waves her hand, trying to dismiss the direction of the conversation.

"Might I ask…How?" He's curious, he shouldn't pry, but there's something about the reclusive Herald guarded off the battlefield, ruthless on it having been married and in love that he finds captivating. She is an enigma, and he's interested in how she came to be.

"Ostigar." It's quiet, Cullen is Ferelden, she doesn't need to elaborate. He nods once, coughs nervously and picks up the discarded weapons.

"Cook should be ready with the first loaves of bread. Shall we go?" He offers brightly, forced cheerfulness to change the mood, and subject.

Isabel nods with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "You fought well, you're fast when you're not wearing full armor. You almost had me." She looks towards him through her lashes. He is more gracious in defeat then she is.

"I became over confident, you clearly took better advantage of the terrain. I enjoyed these sparring matches of ours…perhaps, when you return…we could find some time for more?" His free hand goes to the back of his neck rubbing at it, looking to her shyly.

"It couldn't hurt…well it could, there are swords…but, yes, practice is good, and you're a skilled partner. I see no reason why we couldn't continue. Perhaps not so early?" She closes her eyes as she trips over her words, nearly a month, five mornings of sparring and she gets nervous around him now. He laughs nervously beside her, a poor attempt at breaking the tension that has settled between them.

"Commander Cullen, Ser." A boy calls out by the gate holding a basket covered in cloth.

"Elliot, did you bring two this time?" Cullen jogs forward to the shivering child.

"Yes Ser, commander, just like you asked." He hesitates with the basket, looking over his shoulder. Cullen reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small leather satchel, pulls out a silver coin and hands it to the boy who smiles widely.

"What's this?" Isabel asks watching the boy run towards the make shift tavern and kitchen cottage.

"Heaven." Cullen answers through a mouthful of pastry.

"What?" Isabel snorts with laughter at Cullen's face now dusted with powdered sugar and a smear of strawberry jam on his upper lip.

"Try one, and thank me later." He holds out the basket to her.

"Are you telling me, that what I just saw was you bribing the kitchen boy?" She reaches into the basket gingerly.

"If I didn't Josephine and Leliana would finish them all before I finished drills, they're terrible. Cook only makes them on Fridays." He finishes his in two bites, wiping his hands together.

"Maker." Isabel moans as she bites into it, still warm, the jam fresh and sweet. She whimpers a little while she eats it. "How have I been here a month and this is the first time I've had one?"

"Ask our ambassador and spy master." Cullen returns the practice swords and shields.

"Well, thank you for thinking of me." She smiles shyly, then coughs out a laugh when she finally looks up at him.

"You're welcome." A half smile pulls at him, eyebrow cocking, unsure as to why she's laughing at him now.

"Cullen, you have some….jam." She indicates to her upper lip, and he wipes everywhere but the place where the jam is, tucked into the divet the scar on his upper lip makes. "Stop, stop…" she's laughing when she takes his face in her hands, holding him still with one, and slides her thumb over his lips until the offending jam is gone. "There." She breathes out. She sees him inhale a breath sharply, his cheeks are hot to touch, and she realizes he's blushing. She's close, too close, and she drops her hands and takes a step back.

"I'll see you at the war council later…before you leave for Redcliff, My Lady." Cullen has taken on his commander voice. It snaps Isabel out of….whatever it is.

"Of course. I'll speak with you later Commander. Thank you…again, for the bought…and the doughnut." She smiles sheepishly, and his face softens for a moment when he smiles at her.

"You're welcome." He tilts his head turning towards his own cabin. Isabel turns on her heels, walking towards her cabin, bringing her thumb up to her face, before sticking it in her mouth to suck off the jam.


	3. The Herald of Second Guessing

More stuff, I've been reading a lot of cool head canons. I like the idea of a red Lyrium Cullen in the future during In Hushed Whispers. Just hinting at him would have been a cool bit of foreshadowing of what's to come. Anyways, enjoy, comments and reviews are always welcome.

* * *

><p>Red eyes, like lava flow in the deep roads, glowing and malicious. She had blinked, turned her head towards Dorian who was yelling at her to run, they had to go back. She tried to look over her shoulder, it had to be a demon, but she wasn't sure. It smiled at her, the monster wearing his face. Then the room's chaos and death was gone, they had returned to before Alexius cast his spell. Her sword was out, at the magister's throat. Isabel had survived, again, she always survived, survived the blight, the conclave, the future. Her sword arm shook, and the mark hummed in her veins, feeling like a thousand needles slowly pressing in. Blind rage, she breathed quickly through her nose. Monster, mage, the way Sera's body had been tossed aside, how Bull, a veritable wall had crashed down, Leliana and her arrows ground to a stop…and his red eyes, they would haunt her dreams.<p>

Allies with the rebel mages, Isabel felt her stomach knot, it was the right call, she knew it in her gut. The Rebel mages having been ruled and closed away for so long needed support and guidance, not another leash. The gross miscalculation by grand enchanter Fiona was proof enough that going from one oppressive and desperate situation to another was the last thing the mages, and Thedas, needed. Still unease gnawed at her, she went over the many valid reasons her decision had been a good one, rehearsed the argument in her mind, she would be reasonable, and calm, and they would understand, he would understand. She ran a gloved hand through her short hair before pulling the chantry door open.

"What were you thinking, turning the mages loose with no oversight? The veil is torn open."

Shit

"We need their cooperation to close the rift. It won't work if we make enemies of them." Isabel reasoned.

"There will be abominations; they could potentially do as much damage as the demons." The Templar still so deeply ingrained into Cullen was talking now, his fears and old prejudices that he tried so hard to let go of, clung to him like dirt. Though it wasn't an untrue statement, the concern was legitimate.

"And there would be fewer abominations if I had left them to Alexius? Or conscripted them to us? Even a nug will lash out if made desperate enough. I allied with them, they need us, we need them. At least in close proximity to one another we can see the problems coming, IF they come, they want to help, they want to show Thedas they don't need to be feared and that they can be trusted. I am inclined to let them prove it." Isabel looked to each of their faces, lingering on Cullen's , challenging him to say more. The long exhaled breath was his surrender. Isabel blinked, and saw red eyes staring back at her, malicious grin marring his usually kind but serious face, Isabel flinched.

"Let's continue this is the war room." Cullen furrowed his brows at her. "Is everything all right?"

* * *

><p>"Fine…I'm fine. It's nothing, just a little tired." Isabel ran both hands through her hair, scratching at her scalp, willing what she had seen in Redcliff to leave her. She didn't want to admit to herself how badly it was affecting her.<p>

Three hours and four ales later Isabel was in the tavern staring down the bottom of her glass. Sera sat across from her waving her arms as she told her story. Varric and Blackwall were laughing at whatever she had said.

"Are you even listening? This is gold, and you're mopey , all serious. Enough with the sads already." Sera scowled at her, tapping her on the head.

Isabel swatted the hand away with an annoyed grunt. "Sorry, I'll see you all tomorrow, I have reports to catch up on." She excused herself, downing the last of her drink in two large gulps, ignoring the face Sera made at her.

She was unsteady on her feet, tripping over rocks, and bits of ice. She cursed under her breath when she reached her cabin but the key wouldn't work in the lock.

"Lady Isabel?" Cullen's voice was behind her. "Was there something I could help you with?" He stepped up beside her.

"No, it's fine, I'm fine, my stupid key won't work…" She could feel her cheeks reddening the longer the lock gave her trouble. She didn't want him to see her as she was, slightly drunk and vulnerable. She just wanted her bed.

"No, I don't imagine your key would work on my cabin." Isabel could hear the grin in his voice.

She froze, her blush filling out the rest of her features. "Shit. Umm…my mistake."

Isabel stepped back nearly falling off the low step, Cullen catching her arm to steady her. "One of those days, was it?" He started leading her towards her own cabin.

"Something like that." She mumbled shyly. "Any word from Therenfal Redoubt?" She cleared her throat, hoping to distract from the fact that she couldn't walk a straight line.

"No, still nothing." Cullen steadied her with the lightest of touches on her elbow. The crunch of snow beneath their boots and the muffled and faraway sounds of the tavern were pronounced, accenting the thickness of the silence between them. "Do you trust him? The Tevinter mage? Dorian?"

"I trust that his intentions here are not malicious, and that he's telling the truth. His desire to help seems sincere. After what happened to us…I think he will be an asset, and he's my proof." She climbed the steps of her cabin, sliding the key onto the lock easily.

"Your proof?" Cullen cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow.

"That it happened, that this future, and me traveling there wasn't all a bad dream. He saw it too, he confirms my memories, he's my proof." Isabel moved her jacket aside and lifted the cotton tunic exposing hip and stomach, and a large winding scar, pale and old. "This, is proof of the 5th blight, and this." She pulled the glove off her left hand, exposing the mark, casting an eerie green glow over them. "Is proof of the conclave."

"There's a tear in the sky, spend an hour in southern Ferelden and the ravages of the blight are still there on the land, wouldn't that be proof?" Isabel shook her head at him, a sad smile gracing her lips.

"But these prove that the people around me really died, that my friends and family….really did die, and this isn't all in my imagination, I like to think that it's just been a long time, that life got in the way and they just haven't found the time to write, these scars, marks, keep me grounded and out of my head, all those what if's and could have beens can eat you alive. It's nice to have another survivor as my proof this time. I'm glad not everyone died for a change. Does that make sense?" She had been watching the green glow that light up her veins beneath her skin as she spoke, slowly flexing the hand.

"Yes, it makes perfect sense." He took her hand, the glowing one, and squeezed it gently. "I understand." Cullen's own memories bit at the back of his mind.

Isabel squeezed his hand back, despite the cold, the leather gloves he wore were warm, his face was kind, softening the hard edges that made him a commander to be respected and feared. Isabel could smell the metal, and leather, the earthiness of his fur mantel. Under it all was cedar, warm like a hearth, it was distinctly him, and she found she liked it.

"Good night, my Lady." He bent his head towards her and let go of her hand. Isabel let out the short breath she hadn't known she was holding.

She reached out, taking his shoulder as he turned stopping him, "You were there. I saw you there, in the future."

"I was? You never mentioned it in your report." Cullen turned towards her puzzled.

"Only because Dorian didn't see you as well. You….your eyes were glowing red, there was red lyrium growing out of you." Her brow furrowed.

"You mentioned that both Bull and Sera had red eyes from the proximity to the Lyrium, that Fiona herself had been encased in it, while I don't relish the idea of having been captured, it sounds consistent with everything else you reported. " He turned back towards her, he wanted to take her hand in his again, it was clear to Cullen that the events at Redcliff had shaken her. He wanted her to get some rest, the circles under her eyes were worrisome and familiar.

"You were fighting against us…you were wearing Templar armor, Cullen. It was only for a second, right before Dorian pulled us back to the present. I keep thinking it was a trick of the light, or my imagination. It must have been." Saying it out loud made the entire vision seem ridiculous, "I'm sorry…I shouldn't have concerned you with it."

"I'll send another bird to the Templars in the morning. Lady Isabel, I promise you that I would fall on my sword before I would ever betray the inquisition or allow myself to be corrupted by red lyrium. You have my word." He found himself holding bother her hand lightly by the fingers, the alcohol had lowered her inhibitions, he doubted she would have opened up or shown him an ounce of her vulnerability or uncertainty had she been sober. He was glad she had trusted him enough to talk, still the idea of being corrupted by red lyrium turned his stomach.

"There shall be no falling on swords, commander. Do you hear me?" She laughed nervously her thumb brushing over his fingers softly before she withdrew.

"Understood." He chuckled quietly before rubbing at the back of his neck. "Get some rest."

"Good night, Cullen."

"and you Isabel."


	4. The Herald of Lost Little Girls

She married him the day after she turned eighteen. Isabel couldn't remember a day where she had been happier. He had been fostered in her father's house, minor Ferelden nobility but more than adequate for the youngest Trevelyan daughter. Lord Elric Trevelyan doted on his daughter, and the fact that the two youths loved each other made the match all the better. She had worn a white dress and her long chestnut curls had been styled and pinned with flowers. The apple trees had been in bloom and the delicate pink petals carried on the wind into the small Chantry where they had spoken their vows. A petal landed on her cheek and Isabel went to remove it, only to watch the petal melt away on her finger, cold and wet.

Pain flared in her side, and the bright spring morning melted into a cave, dark, cold, hard. The sickly sweet tang of copper filled her mouth, she rolled onto her side only to wretch. Blood dripped into her eyes, stinging her thanks to a generously bleeding wound on her head. She tried wiping it away but it smeared and made her eyes water, she managed to find a handful of snow and used it to wipe her face so she could look around and get her bearings. Breathing was difficult, and she held her side. Her left arm pulsed and set her nerves on fire, casting an eerie green glow over her surroundings. She was still confused, not able to recall where she was, why she was hurt, or what was going on.

"Help." She choked out in a small voice. "Maker, help me."

The cold answered her. She looked at the hand, her hand, glowing. She felt at her head, her hair was short, and matted with dirt and blood. She touched the ring at her neck, then the scar at her side, gave herself time to remember, for things to make sense. Corypheus, and a signal flare. He had flung her like a rag doll into the trebuchet, she had slammed her sword onto the lever, the mountain came down on them. A cold dread gripped her, she was alive. She wasn't supposed to be alive, if she lived…Isabel wretched again more blood then vomit, sickness and the tang of metal coating her mouth and tongue. She dragged herself up to her feet. Her chest plate was dented inward, she unclasped the buckles holding it in place and with a wince pulled it off of her, the pain was still there but breathing was easier. The first step was the most difficult, her legs buckling under her weight, but fear propelled her forward, and she forced herself to move, to find them, dead or alive.

"Maker, not again, let them live…let them live…" she whispered harshly to the cavern.

There was no shelter from the snow, it seeped into her heavy boots, her toes burned from the cold each snowflake finding her skin was like a tiny knife, chilling her, her leather pants soaked quickly in the waist high drifts. Every step was agony and she hugged herself in a desperate bid to keep herself warm. Tears streaked the grime on her face leaving frosted lines in their wake, born of pain, fear or exhaustion she couldn't tell, she knew only that they wouldn't stop. Her jaw had stopped chattering some time ago, a bad sign. She was tired, and the snow seemed more inviting with every step. There was still hope she reasoned with herself, even if the initial blow hadn't killed her, the cold might, and if she died, then maybe, the rest of the inquisition had lived, if she stopped and lied down, and finally accepted her fate. She took another step, she had to be sure, she needed her proof. If there was a chance, no matter how small that Cullen had seen them through the mountain pass and the blizzard she was battling she needed to see it. If they had all died, if Corepheus and his dragon had descended upon the fleeing survivors, she needed to see the bodies, she would lie down beside them, and it was enough to keep her moving. She coughed out a bitter and hateful laugh, Herald of Andraste, more like harbinger of death, she had been touched by fate, but it wasn't the kind that brought hope. She had been chasing death for the last ten year but she was ever the coward when faced with it, survival instincts stronger then self-loathing and loneliness. She tripped and stumbled, a short rest was all she needed, somewhere she heard wolves howling.

She didn't know when she had sunk to her knees, or when she had closed her eyes but the glorious spring morning of her wedding was before her again. Mathias, in his finery, looking as much a prince as she had ever imagined, took her in his arms, brushing a tendril of hair from her face. He winked at her before scooping her into his arms, he was so young, so perfect, he was hers, and she was his. She reached up and touched his face, and he bent to kiss her. She sighed out his name as he raced across the courtyard making her breathless. She relaxed into his arms, safe and warm, she forgot why she had been feeling so anxious when everything was right, just the way it should be.

* * *

><p>She was alive, he didn't know how, but Cullen didn't question it, he only thanked the Maker for sparing her. She was freezing and soaked to the bone, he saw the blood on her face, and the angry gash on her head. He felt how shallow her breathing was and he sent up a prayer that she hadn't survived only for her to die in his arms.<p>

"She's alive." He answered the question on his compatriot's faces, "but Maker knows for how long, get the healers." It was then he felt freezing fingers on his cheek, the smallest of bushes before her hand fell away. "Lady Isabel?" He looked to the woman in his arms, she was looking through him, her eyes hazy and unfocused, her blue lips turned up into a serene smile.

"Mathias." She whispered so quietly he could barely hear her over the howling wind. Panic flared in his gut. Cullen didn't need to know her husband's name to know who Isabel was seeing. He had seen enough of his friends die to recognize the acceptance he saw in her face.

" Isabel, come back." He held her more tightly.

"Mathias, I'm cold." She mumbled and Cullen broke into a run towards their makeshift camp.

Leliana had gone ahead; Mother Giselle and Solas were waiting for him when he arrived. They wasted no time removing the cold and wet armor and clothes, piling woolen blankets and furs over her. Cullen stepped back watching her face, watching the rise and fall of her chest. She was in and out of consciousness mumbling incoherently. It wasn't until Solas stepped in front of him that he looked away.

"The Herald is on a swords edge, she is bleeding internally, she has a severe head wound, broken ribs and is hypothermic. The veil surrounding her is thin, commander, Mother Giselle and I can treat her wounds, but she must remain awake. The fade is calling to her, our call to her must be louder if she is to survive." Solas gave him a grim look.

Cullen looked from Solas to Isabel his brow furrowing, "can I help? What would you have me do?"

"Speak with her, and keep her awake, pray if you think it might help." Solas returned to his work, the air around him snapping with energy directed towards his patient.

Cullen nodded to no one in particular, kneeling beside the cot, her blue lips were moving soundlessly, and her eyes fluttered. Her fingers twitched. Cullen pulled his gloves off, and took her hand in his, rubbing her freezing digit between his two larger and warmer hands. One hand went to her face, brushing away some of the dirt and turning it towards him.

"Isabel, look at me." He squeezed her hand as he spoke. Her eyes opened completely, and she stared for a moment, unfocused, and he knew she still wasn't seeing him. He would face being mistaken for her dead husband later, he wouldn't play the part for her, but he didn't have the heart to correct her either.

"You died." She answered in a strained voice, she winced in pain her features confused. "Didn't you?"

"No Isabel, I'm not dead, and neither are you. Thanks to you, almost everyone was saved." Cullen smiled at her warmly, letting his thumb stroke her cheek.

Her brow furrowed and she groaned low, squeezing her eyes shut tightly before opening them again, her hand shook in his grasp and Cullen held it close to his chest, gently pulling her back from the memories she was living in. "You faced the elder one and his Arch Demon, you shot the trebuchet and brought the mountain down on Haven. They heard you, and you kept everyone else safe."

_"Let that thing hear you."_

"Cullen?" Isabel felt some of the confusion pull away from her, the pain in her body, the sights, scents and sounds around her sharpened, and she whimpered quietly. The smiling face of her dead husband was slowly replaced by Cullens, full of open concern. "Safe? Everyone?" She tried to sit up but pressure on her shoulder kept her down, she fought it, not seeing what held her down. "What's…"

"It's all right, it's just Solas tending to your wounds, relax." She settled at his words.

"Herald, welcome back." Solas spoke from her other side and she glanced at the elf who nodded at her with glowing finger tips lightly pressing onto her head.

Her grip on his hand loosened and Cullen saw her eyes close. "Commander, she can't sleep, not yet." Solas warned.

Cullen brushed his thumb across her cheek again tilting her head, turning it towards him. "You called me Mathias when I found you. Was he your husband?" Cullen blurted the first thing that came to his mind, keep her talking. He had been curious about her husband from the moment he had learned of him, that he had died in Ostigar implied he had been Ferelden. Her eyes opened and she winced, and Cullen wished he could have taken it back, asked anything else, she licked her lips before biting the bottom one.

"I called you Mathias? Maker, Cullen, I'm sorry." She lifted her other hand to her face, the hand with the anchor, the fingers twitched and she stared at the pulsing light beneath the skin before pressing the heel into her face.

"Shh, it's alright, no need to apologize." He gently pulled her hand away from her face, so that he might see her. She gave him a small smile.

"Lord Mathias Vaughn of Aldhill in the Southron Hills." She cleared her throat.

"Near South Reach, I know the place, how did a Marcher end up married to a Vaughn?" Cullen asked, and Isabel must have heard the hesitation in his voice because she looked at him with an eyebrow raised in question.

"Our fathers were friends, Mathias was sent to Ostwick to be fostered when he was thirteen…we…he…we became friends." She laughed, " As much as any thirteen year old boy can be friends with a ten year old girl. He was very close to my older brother Gideon. Marcus was the oldest and he was always too busy with his studies to be bothered with all us young ones." She took a long breath. Speaking alone was tiring.

"You were childhood sweethearts then?" Cullen guessed, remembering the baker's daughter from Honnleath who had kissed him goodbye the day before he left for Templar training. He swallowed his unease, it was rediculous to feel jealousy towards a man ten years dead.

"Something like that, although he and Gideon were relentless with their teasing. They used to make me cry, sending me running to my father because they wouldn't let me play knights with them." She smiled fondly at the memory and Cullen chuckled, trying to imagine her as a girl. "Then one day the hair pulling and torment turned into holding my hand, and kissing in the garden when we thought no one was looking." She got a faraway look in her eyes, and sucked in her breath when she felt the bite of a needle at her head where the gash was being stitched up.

"I imagine the match was brokered shortly after we became involved. We were married the day after my eighteenth nameday." She pressed her head into his hand when the stitches were done, Cullen's warm touch was a comfort, grounding her, it was cathartic recalling, putting the events into words spoken out loud made them feel real and easier to accept. "We were married for fourteen months before King Cailan called his banners to Ostigar to battle the blight, and we all know how that ended." She blinked back tears brought on by memory and exhaustion, Cullen caught the few that fell, wiping them away.

"I'm sorry." Cullen felt his heart ache, the closest he ever came to love had been Amell in the Ferelden circle. He remembered mourning her death, wishing their last meeting had gone differently, wishing so much had been different.

"It was a long time ago." Her eyelids felt heavy, "Cullen, I'm tired." Cullen looked to Solas to see if she could be permitted to sleep, the elf nodded.

"Close your eyes." _I'll be here._

Isabel closed her eyes and Cullen placed the hand he had been holding under the blanket, but before he could withdraw she squeezed his hand and looked up at him sleepily. "Cullen, I'm glad you were the one to find me, and not Mathias." She held his fingers, warm and steady, loath to let go until finally sleep caught up with her and her grip faltered, releasing him.

"As am i."


	5. The Herald of Regret and Renewal

I just want to give everyone a trigger warning for this one, mentions miscarriage and attempted suicide. Read at your own discretion.

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><p>Cullen surveyed the fortress they had come upon thanks to Solas' guidance. Even in its dilapidated state Skyhold was intimidating. It was an impossible place, yet they found it unoccupied and undisturbed save for the effects of time. Isabel was walking the ramparts with the great sword that had been given to her, a symbol of her title and rank, she seemed more preoccupied with the blade then the vistas surrounding her. She still wore a bandage around her head, a reminder of how close she had come to death. She had fought them on being named inquisitor and the responsibility weighed on her.<p>

Cullen had been working with his men sending scouting parties and establishing patrols. He kept glancing to see her pacing and swinging her sword in slow arcs. He wanted to go talk to her, see how she was coping, they hadn't spoken much since arriving as the demands of establishing Skyhold took priority. Every time he made up his mind to go see her, another scout or report arrived. When finally given the opportunity to get away, she was no longer on the battlements. He sighed heavily and returned to his work turning his attention to a recently arrived report, later, he would find her later.

Isabel always thought better when she was doing drills, and so she swung the ornate ceremonial sword and paced. It was surprisingly balanced for such a detailed hilt, it was a stunning piece, she was still having a hard time believing this was her new reality that the great sword was hers, this keep and the people in it hers to command. She swung the sword to keep the bile from rising and the suffocating panic at bay. This was wrong, she was wrong, everything was wrong, yet she seemed to be the only one harboring these doubts.

She wandered down the ramparts handing the sword to a squire, she was lost in her own thoughts when she found herself in the war room in front of the massive wooden war table. She rolled out the maps of Ferelden and Orlais, finding Ostwick in the northern corner of the Ferelden map, dragging her fingers to all the places she's been. She glanced up when the heavy doors opened.

"Inquisitor." Cullen looked up from the report he had been reading that he wanted to discuss at the next war council. It didn't escape his notice when she winced when he called her by her title.

"I don't know which is worse, Herald of Andraste or Inquisitor. Please Cullen, just Isabel." She gave him a sardonic grin, turning to lean against the table and face him.

"Are they really that bad?" Cullen asked leaning on the table as she did, placing his report next to him.

"I'm sorry, it's just that…the mountain fell on my head, yet it feels like it's everyone else who's lost their senses." She looked down at her feet, unable to meet his eyes.

Cullen chuckled and glanced over at her, she was biting her lip and picking at her fingers. She kept her left hand bandaged so as not to cast its green light everywhere she went. Trying to hide what she was, wanting nothing more than to be accepted as just another member of the inquisition, just a soldier, not anyone special. It did her credit and endeared the masses to her but try as she might she was charismatic in her own quiet way. When she spoke she chose her words carefully and when others spoke she listened so that the other truly felt heard, Cullen knew in his heart that she was the right choice to lead them.

"You give yourself too little credit." He crossed his arms and nudged her gently with the side of his body and she looked at him with an unsure and small smile.

He's warm, even with his armor, she could feel his body heat beside her, heavy, sturdy he was a rock and she was glad for his company. She looked over to him through her lashes, and crossed her own arms in front of her chest, mimicking him.

"I was supposed to be a Grey Warden by now, given I survived the joining. I sent a bird to Weisshaupt nearly six months ago now, wondering what my next step was in becoming a Warden, if there were any recruiters nearby. They never replied. My brother Marcus asked me to accompany him to the conclave as a distraction from the wait." She shook her head, the Maker clearly hadn't finished punishing her.

"Given what we now know about the Wardens, I can't say I'm disappointed you didn't join." Cullen furrowed his brows, remembering how easily she had accepted her role as sacrifice back at Haven, wanting to join the Grey Wardens, it sent an unpleasant chill down his spine. "Why a Warden?"

Isabel licked her lips several times and cleared her throat trying to put the right words together, her reasons were painful, and a source of shame. "When I returned to Ostwick , during the Blight, I wasn't in the best state of mind." A hand slid over her stomach. "I'd lost Mathias, but worse than that…I was pregnant…I lost the baby on the journey." She coughed and pushed off the table, looking out the large window in the room. "I…tried taking my own life." She turned her back on him completely.

Cullen understood, he knew what it meant to feel like there was no way out of the horror of his own life. On some of his worse days, when the Lyrium withdrawals left him a husk of a man he often thought death was preferable to the pain and memories, willpower and Cassandra's support kept him moving forward, Maker he understood what it was like to want to die. His heart went to her, he remembered hearing similar tales in Kirkwall from Ferelden refugees. The toll the Blight had taken on its people had been high.

"I'm sorry." He wanted to tell her about his own failings, let her know she wasn't alone. He wanted to touch her and see her shoulders relax, to let her know that he didn't judge her for having felt like there was only one way out of her pain, but the words caught in his mouth.

"My Father took me to the training yard after I recovered, he put a sword and a shield in my hands and told me, if you are so determined to die, girl, let your life mean something." She turned back towards Cullen, crooked grin on her face. "He promised me that once I could best him and my brothers in single combat, he would send the bird to Weisshaupt himself. If anything it gave me purpose, which was the whole point I suppose, it kept me alive."

"Smart man." He murmured quietly.

Something in the way he spoke to her gave Isabel pause, she met his eyes and saw her own pain reflected back at her, a deep wound and she wondered what Cullen's demons were. She felt foolish, selfish, of course she wasn't the only one with hurt and pain in her past. The silence dragged on, the air between them heavy with the unspoken, she could hear how the air was inhaled through his nose, slow and steady, thoughts working in his mind. Isabel felt a blush creeping up her neck under his gaze.

"In any case, it hardly matters anymore." She waved a hand dismissively, heading towards the heavy double doors.

"Don't…it matters, you matter. Thank you Isabel, for sharing this with me, and for trusting me." He had been so close to telling her about how he no longer took Lyrium, the effects, how he struggled, about Kinloch Hold and his own past but the words wouldn't come. He wasn't sure how he had earned her trust and vulnerability, but he wouldn't betray her. Cullen hadn't realized he had closed the distance between them when he spoke, he was holding her upper arm, the muscle was hard under his grasp, her pale eyes were large, lips slightly parted in surprise, and he found his mind drifting, entirely too fascinated by how her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

"Cullen, I…I'll do my best to make sure your faith in me isn't misplaced." She waited for him to release her, not really minding him touching her, but not knowing how to tell him that it was okay, wanting to step into him, instead of away.

"I'm sorry." He let go and rubbed the back of his neck clearing his throat

"It's fine." She mumbled below her lashes. She took a deep breath before smiling brightly at him, "One thing I can tell you about making me Inquisitor, the lot of you just made your jobs infinitely harder, because I have no idea what I'm doing."

Cullen chuckled under his breath opening the door and waiting for her to pass through, "I'm sure we'll muddle through."

"Watch out Corypheus, the Inquisition will muddle you to death!" Isabel declared dramatically, Cullen's chuckle turned into a laugh.

Cullen cocked his elbow out, inviting her to take it and Isabel slipped her hand through, resting her hand in the crook. The walked in companionable silence, and for the first time since she fell out of the fade Isabel believed they might actually be able to win.


	6. The Herald of Blood, Lyrium, and Banners

This took entirely too long to write, I'm still not sure I'm happy with it or the characterization and pacing, but I'm done working on it. As a Warrior you can discuss the possibility of taking the Templar path, and Cullen has some choice words about it. In my play through I hit this conversation right before I took the option to start the romance, I had originally intended for it to happen after, but I like it better this way. Let me know what you think, I am so torn on this piece and feedback would be most welcome.

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><p>Their private sparring matches became far less private as time wore on, Blackwall, Cassandra, and The Iron Bull started challenging the Inquisitor and Commander in turn, and Isabel was growing accustomed to the eyes on her, she was making far fewer mistakes, although she still cursed and blushed if she was bested in front of the recruits. The better she got to know her comrades, friends, the more at ease she became as a whole. She was still quiet, preferring to watch and listen to the banter then participate but she was no longer thrown off by crowds of followers, the people she inspired. One thing in particular Cullen noticed was her smile, and how often it was seen around the keep, how easily it graced her when she was in the company of her companions. Her laughter was subtle, a soft chuckle, and easily missed if you weren't looking at her and the way her mouth crooked up unevenly or the way her pale eyes danced, her nose would scrunch before she would cover part of her face in her hands and look away. Cullen was finding himself wanting to stop that hand, if only because her happiness was always so fleeting, a flash of light in the madness of the world. Never mind how it made his stomach flip or how the breath was driven from his lungs when she would glance at him in her mirth, as if sharing an additional private joke at the expense of the others.<p>

She was facing off against Iron Bull with a two handed great sword, trying to diversify her skill set. Ever since the combat specialists had arrived at Skyhold Isabel was driven. Most warriors, like Cullen himself, had been trained from a young age. Isabel was by all intents and purposes a late bloomer, as they were very near the same age, the inquisitor having only started her training at the age of nineteen, she was determined not to let her late start stop her and relished the thought of taking on a specialty. He leaned against the training circle, wiping his brow. He was out of his armor, a simple, albeit sweat stained cotton shirt, the sleeves pushed up past his elbows, if his sister could see him, she would probably tell him how much he looked like their father, a farier by trade. He made a mental note to write to Mia before the day was through.

"Well fought, Commander." Blackwall came to stand beside him, giving a small nod before turning his attention to the Qunari and the Inquisitor.

"And you, Blackwall, it was a hard win." Cullen wiped the sweat at the back of his neck.

"We can't have our Commander going soft now can we." The older man rumbled good naturedly.

Isabel fell hard, Bull over taking her with his bulk, the wind was knocked out of her, and she raised her hand conceding defeat. She couldn't rely on speed with the two handed weapons and she was still learning how to block without a shield. Bull held out a hand and pulled her back to her feet before slapping her hard on the back, driving the air from her lungs again.

"I think I'm spent for the day." Isabel walked from the ring towards the barrel of water, taking a long drink with the ladle before handing it off to Bull.

"So, I hear you need to drink dragon's blood for one of these specialties, you're doing that one right? Let's go and kill us a dragon and you can drink its blood, that is fucking bad ass, and did I mention hot as hell?" Bull handed her a rag to wipe off her sweat.

"I told you I haven't decided yet. I still have some reading to do." She evaded the question, in truth she knew she wouldn't choose to become a reaver, but she didn't have the heart to let Bull know just yet.

"Why do you need to read, you hit shit, shit dies, simple." He shook his head at her as she made her way towards Cullen and Blackwall.

"Tell it to my trainers, Bull." Isabel rolled her eyes. "Commander, a word?" The words were commanding but the tone inviting. Blackwall partnered up with Cassandra as the two of them left the sparring ring.

"Yes, Inquisitor?" Cullen gave her a warm grin, the scar on his lip twitching up as he walked towards her.

She nodded towards the ramparts, her way of indicating the conversation was meant to be private, and it was. She did not want to have it. The last time the subject was broached the two of them had gotten into a heated argument, tones had remained civil but a coldness had entered into Cullens voice. The topic of Isabel possibly becoming a Templar touched a nerve in him, and he hadn't been shy at showing his disdain for the idea. She supported, and even admired his choice to stop taking lyrium, but it had been his choice, and she resented the way he was resisting letting her make her own. Yet he was still the person she trusted the most in the Inquisition, she was slowly opening up to her other companions, but Cullen had been her first friend. She had revealed things to him that people outside her immediate family didn't know, she had spoken truths that up until that point had only lived in her heart, things she had never spoken out loud until something in him compelled a confession. It spoke to his character that she had come to trust him, admire him, and even care for him. Yet on this subject he was maddeningly stubborn and obtuse, refusing to see her point of view. They reached the top of the stairs, looking out at the view before turning towards Cullen's tower.

"I was wondering if you would lend me you Templar Libram? Ser wants me to read it before I make a philter, IF I make one." She looked sidelong at him, she could see his jaw tense, the relaxed grin turned serious. He opened the door to his office, letting her pass before him.

"I thought we decided the Templar path wasn't for you." He went to his desk leaning on it, watching her with a look of disappointment.

"We? No Cullen, you decided the Templar path wasn't for me." Isabel was not going to be talked down to.

"It isn't! You would do yourself a disservice leashing yourself to that poison." Cullen threw up his hands in exasperation.

"You said yourself that we didn't have enough Templars to protect the mages in the event of malificar or abominations, is it really so wrong of me to consider this path? I would keep this inquisition strong, and safe for all. Even if that means taking lyrium. Maker, Cullen, I haven't even made a final decision yet, I would not jump in blind and ignorant. You know me!" Her voice raised an octave in her frustration; she raked her fingers through her hair.

"Yes I know you, and that is exactly why I fear. I know exactly what it is you are willing to sacrifice, which is everything, and that is not acceptable, Isabel, you are too important to…the inquisition to be lost to a festering addiction. I am not prepared to sit idly by and let you throw yourself away needlessly." He shouted the last part in the voice that made his enemies quake. His mouth snapped shut the second the words left him, regret at his raised voice, at his loss of composure, but not at his sentiment, he believed what he said whole heartedly. Still an apology was at the tip of his tongue, but his own stubborn pride prevented it from escaping.

Isabel's nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. "Commander, remember yourself." They stared at each other across his desk, the air between them thick with tension. She shook her head and turned towards his door. "If you will not lend me your copy I'll have Josephine requisition one for me. I shouldn't have asked." She should have known better, she had hoped his friendship would have been stronger, she wanted his perspective and guidance, she felt more comfortable asking him questions about the intricacies of Templar life then the evasive Ser. She slammed the door, not stifling the petty streak she had, she heard something fall from the force of it and smirked, before her lips fell into a grim line.

Cullen watched her leave, dread and bile sitting in his throat. He went to his bookshelf pulling out his copy of the Libram. He fell heavily into his chair rubbing the bridge of his nose, a headache building behind his eyes. The book was old and worn, the spine creased and cracked from years of use and study. He flipped through the pages, the passages that had spoken to him, and guided him the most underlined, notes hastily written in the inner seams. The book was his journey to manhood, it was his naïve ideals and crushing disappointment all in one. The order had lost its way, twisted by the very thing that gave them their power. He let the headache and the chills that came with his symptoms wash over him, taking deep breaths and waiting for the pain to pass, the bile remained in his throat no matter how many times he swallowed. He knew Isabel, and the champion's path was one of glory, the Templars were warriors whose very essence was that of sacrifice, she was only now becoming comfortable fighting in front of a crowd, he did not see her becoming a Champion of acclaim, seeking out challengers. The thought of watching her light diminish as the lyrium took hold of her was enough for the bile to finally win. He wretched into his waste pail.

She left for the Crestwood the following day, her requisition already en route to Skyhold, the damned tome would be waiting for her when she returned. It rained the entire week she and her team were in Ferelden, it matched the black mood she was in. Sera tried making a joke about a lovers spat and earned herself a glare that subdued the elf for the better part of their sojourn. She was grateful for Solas if for no other reason than his quiet demeanor. Blackwall was companionable and offered insights in techniques and elaborated what being a Champion meant that the Codex she had read failed to elaborate on. When they returned to Skyhold Sera called them all boring sticks in the mud. Isabel debriefed with her advisors, professional and cool when Cullen asked questions about what they had accomplished. Her Libram was waiting for her on her desk and she ran a hand over the ornate cover. She cracked the spine and started reading, not stopping until the dawn peaked over the mountains. A soft knock woke her, she was bent over her desk, her neck and spine bowed and stiff from how she fell asleep.

"Come in." She called out expecting one of the maid servants. Instead it was Cullen. He was holding a small wicker basket covered with napkins, but she knew the scent.

"I brought a peace offering." He held the basket up sheepishly.

"Doughnuts?" She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and gave him a crooked smile. He nodded, placing the basket on her desk. Not missing the fact that her bed was still pristinely made.

Isabel lifted the napkin, revealing a fresh apple fritter, her favorite, and Cullen's Libram. She stared at his copy of the book, worn and frayed, not nearly as ornate as her own copy.

"I should have lent it to you when you asked." He was looking away rubbing the back of his neck, "I should be more supportive, it's difficult for me to accept this possibility. Forgive me."

"Of course, Cullen." She picked up the warm pastry, and looked up at him through her lashes. "I can hardly stay mad when you've brought me a peace doughnut." She took a bite, ginning through her mouthful making Cullen chuckle.

"If…if you have any questions for me, I would be glad to answer them for you." He offered clearing his throat.

Isabel chewed thoughtfully, taking a seat on her divan patting the space beside her, inviting Cullen to join her. "The Libram doesn't tell the whole truth does it? The words, stories, and directives are all very pious and heroic, makes it all sound rather romantic. I suspect a lovely piece of propaganda. What is taking Lyrium really like?"

"It's strange, the first time does feel like the stories in the book, it makes you feel powerful, like a sixth sense opens up and suddenly you can reach out and feel the magic around you, you can feel how deep a mages magic well is. And you can manipulate that magic, stop it, take away its potency." He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to relax.

"But the longer you take it, it starts to call to you and there is a constant need for more, a preoccupation with when your next drought will be. Your mind dulls, you forget, but the lost memories aren't important. Nothing is as important as that blue vial." He swallows, and furrows his brow, looking at the floor, he steeples his fingers pressing the tips until they turn white. "It has been 268 days since my last drought, and everything I've done, and forgotten haunts me, I remember…and it…hurts, the need dogs at my heels, and I fear I will never truly escape it. It is the price paid for being a Templar."

Isabel watched his face as he spoke, at how hard it was for him to get the words out, at the anger and shame work over his features. She placed a hand on his forearm, and feels the cool plate armor under her hand, and she understands a little why he wears it all the time. Still his other hand, gloved but warm slides over hers, and they are both watching where they are joined. The silence stretched and the air was heavy and charged, both entirely aware of the distance between them, how simple it would be to lean over. Isabel licked her lips and Cullen sees the flash of pink from the corner of his eyes and he looks at her, the air dragging through his nose, he looks from lips to eyes with a silent question worn plainly on his face. He wants to kiss her, Isabel realizes, and Maker save her, she wants to kiss him back and the force of that realization sends a shock through her and her eyes widen. Her mouth opens and closes, and she can almost see her pulse it is beating so loudly in her head.

"I…champion, I decided in Crestwood, that I was going to become a Champion, and not a Templar. Blackwall and I spoke about it at great length. He mentioned how becoming a Templar might cause the mages to lose faith in me and the Inquisitions intentions, making me appear to take sides in the conflict. How I am already a figure head, and that becoming a Champion would only enhance that idea, that I do not fight for myself but for the Inquisition." She was babbling, her voice an octave higher then it normally was. "He's surprisingly politically minded for a Warden, but he has fair points. Symbols are important, and…" the corner of his lip was pulled up in a crooked smile, the side with the scar, and she's fairly certain he was closer than he was a moment ago.

"I'm glad." He mumbled softly, his nose brushed against hers, his lips so close to hers she could feel the warm breath along her cheek.

"Cullen." His name more sigh the word.

"Your Worship? The door was open." A messenger calls into the room from the landing. Cullen and Isabel snap apart, pulling hands away, both flushed.

"What is it?" She cleared her throat, her voice was shaking. The messenger's boots climbed the steps and Cullen stood, walking a few paces, distancing himself from her, both of them acting like guilty teenagers.

"Sister Lelianna and Lady Montilyet were wondering why you were late for… Oh Commander, I was to find you next. They are waiting in the war room, eager to begin the morning's war council." They saluted neatly at both of them.

"Tell Lelianna, and Josephine we will be along presently. Thank you." The messenger smiled and nodded his head before saluting Cullen again and leaving.

"We should…ah, go, yes?" Cullen ran a hand through his hair looking away then at her, the blush high on his cheeks. Isabel nodded, trying to calm her erratic heartbeat.

They walked in silence for a few steps, "Do you have time for a chess match this afternoon, Cullen?" She wondered, and as a way to fill the silence between them.

"I'm sure I can find some time." He swallowed.

"Good. You're on, this time you're not allowed to let me win, though, you're my general, I expect a fight from you." She swung the door to the throne room open.

"I never let you win." He argued.

"Mmmmhmmmm" She looked at him skeptically.

"I don't."

"Cullen, I'm terrible at that game, do you honestly think I believe that?"

Something had to be done, Isabel decided, because the urge to kiss him hadn't lessened at all.


	7. the Herald of Coming Home

Cullen kissed her on the battlements, hard and hasty, capturing her before she could make her escape with an excuse. Then slow and soft, after he was sure she wouldn't run, once he was sure she felt the same, really felt the same in a way he could confirm without words. That was three weeks ago, the following day she had left for the Western Approach, and he waited, drowning himself in work and training, catching himself every time he would scrape his teeth along his lower lip, trying to recall what she tasted like, and how she felt there. He could hardly believe she had admitted to her feeling to him, he reciprocated them, he was fairly certain his interest had begun long before hers. He wasn't a fool he had sensed each small touch and soft look but kept his distance. Every time she looked at him with care or smiled her quiet smile at him he would thrill before remembering being called by her dead husbands name in the snow at Haven. He wanted to be sure her past was truly behind her, and she was willing to give him as much as he was willing to give her. He wasn't expecting anything before they reached the inquisitions goals of restoring a semblance of order to Thedas. He had resigned himself to being a friend and giving her space in the meantime, focusing instead on the war effort. Cullen remembered the way she twisted and wrung her fingers while she spoke, her voice as stilted and unsure as he felt. His teeth scraped against his bottom lip and he sighed pressing his mouth into a stern line, mentally reprimanding her for being so distracting.

They made the ride home three days earlier thanks to riding through the night, and sleeping in short three hour breaks on the road, it wasn't smart, and her companions were growing irritable due to their lost sleep. The anticipation of seeing Cullen again was physically manifesting to the point of Varric commenting on how restless she was. The three weeks had given her time to dissect everything about her and Cullens interactions, think about how terrible the idea of the two of them getting involved was, but the words were out, there was no taking back that kiss, she worried her lower lip unsure if this involvement what she really wanted. She couldn't remember the last time she had been this excited to see someone, and the sensation was unnerving. Suddenly she had something personal to lose. She tried burying the gut wrenching fear that elicited in her and dug her heels into her horse urging him on faster, promising a fine Antivan Vintage to each of her grumpy friends.

Cullen heard the horn from his office announcing approaching riders but thought nothing of it, thinking it was nothing more then returning scouts. He refocused his attention to the report he was reading, scrawling notes with his thoughts as he went. The door opened, a common occurrence in his tower usually guards passing by or runners with more reports, he didn't raise his head unless addressed. He mumbled under his breath about the blasted Orleasians and scribbled a short and angry note at the bottom of the missive.

"Cullen?" Isabel watched him write for a few second before speaking, face scowling and irritated. She watched his face look up and melt from stern to surprised then delight.

"Isabel! You're early." He came around his desk, quill and report forgotten.

She was still in her armor, shield still slung over her back, sword at her side. He could see a thin film of red dust on her clothing and face, see where the sweat at her hair line smudged the red sand, tracking lines down her face. Cullen's heart beat hard when he realized she had come straight to him instead of cleaning and changing first. Was she as eager as he was, unless something had happened and he was needed, the shy smile and her overall stance, the way she tugged at her fingers put that thought to rest.

"I wanted…to , um, see you." The words sounded silly, almost childish in her ears, and she ran a gloved hand through her dirty hair. She should have probably washed first; she should go and clean herself up. She felt like an over eager teenager again, and felt the colour rise in her cheeks.

"I'm glad." He stepped towards her, chuckling.

"I, uh, should have probably undressed first…changed, washed. Maker's balls." She squeezed her eyes shut, nerves making a fool of her. The sound of Cullens suppressed laugh brightened her blush but teased out a smile of her own. "I may owe Dorian, Varric and Bull copious amounts of alcohol for pushing them so hard to get home." She bit her lip glancing up at him guiltily.

"Eager to return were you? Any particular reason why?" He gave her a roguish grin, raising an eyebrow and taking slow steps towards her. He wanted to take her in his arms sweep her up and kiss her, but her shyness was endearing.

He was playing with her now, and she crossed her arms matching his look with her own raised eyebrow, familiar comfort curling around her with their banter. She worried for nothing she reasoned.

"Why? Because three weeks is entirely too long between a first and a second kiss, Commander Cullen, now stop teasing me." She closed the distance between them, more nervous than shy, watching him through her lashes.

"Well we needn't wait any longer." He found her waist and dipped his head towards her, sliding his nose against hers.

Another one of the doors to Cullen's tower opened, "Commander it seems the Inquisitor has returned early, once she's cleaned up and changed we'll be debriefing in the council chamber." Lelianna strolled in, waiting expectantly.

Cullen watched Isabel's expression change in front of his eyes. What little playfulness she had shown him, the shy excitement at seeing him evaporated in a moment. She stepped out of his embrace and cleared her throat.

"Of course Leliana, we'll see you in an hour." She stepped away from Cullen, away from the shield his bulk had created obscuring her from the spymasters eyes.

"Inquisitor, I didn't know you were here." She glanced from Commander to Inquisitor, "did I interrupt something?" Implying exactly what they were thinking.

"No, nothing. I'll see you both in an hour." Isabel spared a glance at Cullen, looking away far too quickly, the disappointed look he was giving her as she walked away was too much to face. It felt like running, it was, her nerves and her doubts crashing into her so suddenly, this was a distraction neither of them could afford, she shouldn't have come here.

"Are the two of you? What's going on?" Lelianna was perceptive, not missing the tension in the room, the way Cullen looked after her.

"I couldn't tell you, Leliana." He ran a gloved hand through his hair before letting it rest at the back of his neck.

The debriefing was short, Isabel too tired to review anything more than the possession and murder of the Grey Wardens, and the acquisition of their new strong hold in the Western approach. She avoided Cullen's eyes, but she could feel them on her, his voice was the commander's not the teasing low chuckle she had heard earlier. She regreted leaving him without the kiss she said she wanted, that she still wanted. She was well aware she was sending him mixed signals. Logic and sense warred with desire; it was foolish for the two of them to get involved. He had the right of it three weeks ago when he had said she was the Inquisitor and that they were at war that he didn't think it possible, if she was a better woman, stronger, it wouldn't be, but something about him made her weak, and yet not. The effect he had on her was maddening. She didn't know how to tell him how scared she was, how attached she had become and how every kiss, imagined or otherwise was pulling her towards him. The heavy war room door was pulled open, groaning on its hinges, Isabel was still bent over the war table lost in thought, not hearing or acknowledging her advisers words bringing the meeting to an end, it was only when she realized the buzz of voices had silenced that she glanced up. She saw the door leading to Josephine's office close behind a wisp of maroon. Shit. She ran, doors slamming behind her until she reached him, grabbing his arm, and turning him towards her. Cullen's face was weary and impatient, he didn't have time for her games, for her hot and cold and misgivings. They needed to talk, he deserved an explanation at the very least.

"Cullen." It was then she realized they were in the main hall, becoming aware of the workers on the scaffolding and the milling nobles, and the words died on her tongue, too embarrassed to continue, not while on display for anyone to hear. She kept her grip on his arm, and nudged her head towards her chambers door, with a pleading look in her eye. "Commander, I have some thoughts on who could command at the new keep, I was hoping you would listen and give me your opinion?"

"Of course Inquisitor." He tilted his head indicating she should lead the way and he followed her through her door.

They climbed the steps leading to her room, Isabel was already easing the buckles of her chest plate loose, shrugging off her over coat, and pulling off her gauntlets. Each crash of armor pierced the silence between them until she rounded on him in her leather breeches and cotton undershirt. Cullen could see the tan line cutting across her collar bone, the thin chain she wore around her neck with the wedding band resting against her skin beneath her shirt. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air until she sighed heavily and sat on the divan.

"I'm not good at this. I'm sorry, for earlier, I panicked and I ran and I offended you, and I'm sorry. I…don't know what I'm supposed to do, I don't know if this was a good idea." She watched him, Cullen considered her before he started unlacing and removing his own gloves.

"Well I can tell you, running away like I had the blight goes on the list of what not to do." His voice was low and warm, wry. He cleared his throat looking about the room, painfully aware of the tension between them.

"I gathered as much." She mumbled softly.

Cullen knelt in front of her, regarding her seriously. They were alike in that they both tended to overthink situations, consider all angles, doubts and second guessing was par for the course. Cullen was, however, sure in his feeling for the Inquisitor, which was surprising, he rarely let his emotions lead him.

"If you like, whatever this is needn't go further than this. It's been a long time since I've wanted anyone in my life, and I'm as unsure as you are. It makes sense not to let our focus waiver. If this…dalliance has you doubting, then perhaps…"Cullen didn't like the words he was saying. He watched the play of emotion on her face.

"Cullen, I…if you don't want…" Isabel felt her heart drop. She shouldn't be sad, this is exactly what she wanted, a way out and a way back into her comfort zone.

"That's not what I said." His voice perhaps a little too sharp, Cullen sighed tracing his thumb over the tops of her cheeks where the desert sun had kissed them, it made her pale eyes all the brighter and Maker she was so beautiful, before he pulled away, he didn't have the right. "I do want…I care for you, Isabel, and I want to try, I want to see where this could lead. What I am saying is that if you're not ready then we don't need to pursue this any further. " He was giving her a way out if she chose to take it. She could run. The resignation and sadness on his face, the way his golden eyes swept over her, pulling his hand away from her face and looked away clearing his throat, she did that, she hurt him and she wanted to take it back. She didn't deserve him, but she didn't want to be the one who hurt him like this with her stupid indecision, he wanted her, she wanted him, she needed to stop making it more complicated than it was. She was struck that he cared enough to let her go, he wouldn't push if it wasn't what she wanted. Her heart ached, and she wasn't sure if it was weakness of strength that made her relent.

Glancing from eyes to lips, her heart hammering in her head, she cupped his face in one hand and he leaned into it, his face expectant, waiting for her decision. She bent towards him, letting her nose run along his until she had angled her lips just above his, she felt his short stuttered breath right before she kissed him. Fingers ran through his soft pauldrons before finding the nap of his neck scraping up the back of his head. He leaned in, bracing himself with one arm on the divan, circling her waist with the other, pulling her closer. When her tongue slid against his a quiet moan bubbled up from Cullens throat. His hand traveled up her waist causing the fabric from her shirt to scrap against her skin, making the hairs stand up. She raked her hands through his hair, their kiss growing in passion warmth pooling in her stomach she went to close her legs only for them to be stopped by his waist, her chest hard against his breast plate, she could feel the metal through her shirt, all too aware of how cool it felt against her breasts and Isabel couldn't remember why she had been so frightened. She let out a whispered keen when his teeth scrapped against her bottom lip before he kissed her again. When they finally broke apart they were breathless. Cullens hand traveling from ribs to waist and back up again, and Maker she wanted him to touch elsewhere, she nipped at his lip, smiling against him when he sighed.

"I think that I would like to try as well." She said low, voice soft and serious. "No turning back this time, I promise."

"Good" He chuckled, lightly bumping his nose against hers, breathing her in.

She hugged him, laying her head against the soft mantel, and wrapped up in his arms she finally felt like she had come home.


End file.
